The Consequence of Choice
by candydot91
Summary: What if Voldemort had not killed Lily and James Potter that fateful night? What if he had chosen Neville over Harry? Can this almost-Squib avenge his parents and defeat the Dark Lord? Rated T because I don't know what might happen later on.
1. A Wizard After All

**DISCLAIMER:****All ****characters, ****names, ****places, ****spells, ****etc., ****belong ****to ****J.K. ****Rowling.**

**NOTE: I know it doesn't make much sense for Uncle Algie's last name to be Longbottom if Augusta is Neville's paternal grandmother, so for the purposes of this story Longbottom was Augusta's maiden name, which she and her son Frank switched back to after she was divorced (unnecessary back stories ftw). This is mostly because I'm just not very good at coming up with names.**

_**A WIZARD AFTER ALL**_

"Neville?" The bedroom door creaked open softly. On the bed, a small figure stirred under the covers. "Neville, get up now, it's time to get ready." No response. Augusta Longbottom gave her wand an irritated flick, and the room immediately filled with the horrendous clanging of several alarm clocks. _"__NEVILLE!__"_

The boy rolled onto his back and blinked sleepily at his grandmother. "Gran? Timezit?" he asked groggily.

"Ten-o'-clock," she informed him, stowing her wand in a pocket of her robe. "I wanted to let you sleep in a bit for your birthday, but this is ridiculous. Get dressed, we're leaving for Algernon's in an hour."

Neville groaned loudly. _"__Why?__"_

"He wants to celebrate your birthday with us."

"He _wants_ to see if I can do any magic yet," Neville said darkly. "Would you mind leaving? I'm not wearing pants."

Gran sighed. "Honestly, Neville, sometimes I wish you weren't always so honest."

Once she was gone, he got out of bed and dressed himself in front of the mirror in an effort to make himself presentable. A pale, round-faced boy stared back. The lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead contrasted sharply with his fair complexion, the only physical sign of the tragedy that had struck the Longbottom family nearly ten years ago.

Neville had been told the story of his parents' death when he was very young, barely old enough to understand. It was crucial that he know, his grandmother had said, so that he could be proud of his parents and understand the sacrifice they had made for him. Frank and Alice Longbottom, talented young Aurors (Ministry of Magic officials whose job it was to apprehend Dark wizards), had been murdered in cold blood by Lord Voldemort, the most evil wizard of the century. When he was satisfied they were dead, he had rounded on Neville, but for some reason- nobody knew quite what- his killing curse had rebounded, leaving him broken, defeated. Voldemort- or You-Know-Who, as he was more commonly called- was now rumored to be in hiding somewhere, weak and powerless, but some still lived in fear that one day he might return.

"Are you ready yet?" Gran asked irritably from the other side of the door.

"Almost," Neville grunted, struggling to get his pants on properly; he had put both legs through one hole.

"We'll be using Floo powder," Gran said as they stood in front of the fireplace five minutes later. "Do _try_to speak clearly this time- I don't want to have to rescue you from the Tower of London again." Neville blushed and reached into the jar of glittering powder his grandmother held. "Just a pinch- there you go- now throw it in and say "Algernon Longbottom's."

Neville stepped nervously toward the fireplace; Floo powder was far from his favorite way to travel.

"Algernon Longbottom's!" he squeaked, tossing the powder in and stepping into the flames.

Immediately, everything began spinning around him. Feeling dizzy, he closed his eyes, but that only made it worse. Just when he was sure he was going to be sick, the spinning stopped, and he landed with a hard _THUD!_ on what felt like cold stone.

"Neville, m'boy!" came a cheery voice from above him. "You're here!"

Neville pushed himself up, coughing soot, and brushed off his clothes. He was standing in a well-furnished, but comfortable living room. A large man with gray hair and a warm, friendly face stood in front of him. "Hi, Great-uncle Algie," he said, reaching out to shake his hand.

"Get off that hearth, Nev, and let me have a look at you." Great-uncle Algie eyed him up and down and exclaimed, "You've gotten taller! Not that I'm surprised. After all, you're what, eleven now? Growing up fast there, boy!" He leaned in close to whisper in Neville's ear. "Speaking of which, have you managed to, er, do anything yet?"

As Neville shook his head, there was a roar of flames, and his grandmother stepped regally out of the large fireplace- well, as regally as one could with a giant stuffed vulture perched atop one's head. Neville didn't know why his grandmother always wore the absurd-looking hat, but in living memory he had never seen her go anywhere without it. It was her trademark, as much as Neville's was his lightning scar.

"Made it alright this time, then?" she said, brushing soot off her long green dress. "Well, that's something, at least. We still haven't gotten anything out of him," she added to Great-uncle Algie. "He never will have his father's talent, I'm afraid."

"Well, just give him time, Augusta. Nev's just a late bloomer. Some day, he'll shine, I'm sure of it."

"He's running out of time!" Gran said frustratedly. Neville got the impression they had forgotten he was there. "He's eleven years old today, Algernon, his time's almost up! If something doesn't happen soon..." Her voice trailed off and she began pacing around the room, the vulture's beak bobbing up and down in a disturbingly life-like manner as she stormed.

"Well, there's always bar-tending at the Leaky Cauldron," Great-uncle Algie suggested.

His easy-going tone did not please Gran. "No son of Frank and Alice Longbottom is going to make his living in a pub!"

"Take it easy, Augusta," he said. He grabbed something out of a bowl that sat on one of the end tables. He grinned at Neville, a determined gleam in his eyes. "Think fast, Neville."

"Wha- wait a sec-"

The next thing Neville knew was excruciating pain as the apple crashed right into his nose. He felt his nose break and collapsed to his knees, howling as blood began to gush down the front of his shirt. Eyes watering, face throbbing, he did his best to glower at Great-uncle Algie, but all he could manage was a sort of teary-eyed blinking. He wiped his nose across his sleeve. "_Really, _Neville!" Gran snapped, looming over him with the sort of expression one might give a poorly-behaved puppy. She took out her wand and tapped it wordlessly against the side of his swollen nose. There was a moment of terrible pain as his nose realigned itself, but then it was gone and the bleeding ceased. She used a second spell to siphon the blood from his shirt and the carpet.

"Well, that was effective," she said sarcastically, turning to face her brother. "Was that enough, or would you prefer to fire a Killing Curse at him and see if he can block it?"

Great-uncle Algie looked somewhat ashamed. "Augusta," he said. "If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to you in the kitchen. Nev, why don't you go outside and get some water from the well?"

"Fine," Neville grumbled. What use was magic to the adults, he wondered, if they were just going to make him do all their chores anyway He couldn't see why everyone was so determined that he should have any magical ability. Sure, it might be convenient sometimes for things he didn't want to do, and Hogwarts would probably be fun, but Muggles got along alright without magic, didn't they? But Gran seemed to think that the worst thing a person could possibly be was a Squib, which, after eleven years and no signs of any magic powers, Neville was fairly certain he was.

As he was walking back to the house with a pail full of water, he heard voices coming from the open kitchen window; clearly, the adults didn't think he could hear them. "...hoping I might be able to force some magic out of him," Great-uncle Algie was saying. "It's a well-known fact, Augusta, that stressful or dangerous situations can cause random outbursts of magic in young witches and wizards..."

"That would be why you pushed him off the pier when he was seven, then," Gran replied in a matter-of-fact tone that did not mask her irritation- though whether this irritation was directed at Great-uncle Algie or himself, he wasn't sure. "It's time we faced facts, Algernon- the boy is hopeless, and no amount of broken noses or near-drownings is going to change that."

Neville felt sick with anger and shame. Hopeless, was he? He was sick of being constantly looked down upon, or worse, compared to his parents. Gran wasn't going to be satisfied until he was as great a wizard as his father had been. He was never going to be good enough, never going to live up to the bar set by a man he had never even known.

He burst in through the kitchen door, shaking with white-hot fury. "Good conversation?" he asked, in a voice that was uncharacteristically cold.

"Neville!" Gran nearly dropped the cup of tea in her hands. "Were you eavesdropping on us?"

Normally, Neville rather feared his grandmother- though a very capable guardian, and loving in her way, she was not a woman to be crossed. Now, however, his fear was smothered by the rage that was quickly threatening to boil over. "Next time," he said quietly, "you might want to be sure the window's closed before you start talking about me behind my back."

The kitchen fell silent. Something was happening. The kitchen seemed to be vibrating slightly, as if in a mild earthquake- lights began flickering on and off- and then, to Neville's amazement as much as anyone else's, the kitchen table and everything on it lifted of the floor. It hovered in the air for a moment, inches from the ceiling. All three stared in disbelief, not quite sure what to do, and before any of them had made up their minds on that particular subject the table came falling back down to the floor, where it landed with a resounding _CRASH!_ Glass shattered, food flew, hot tea splattered over all of them as Gran shrieked, Great-uncle Algie leapt from his chair, and Neville stood in a sort of daze as the terrifying scene unfolded before him.

"_NEVILLE __FRANCIS __LONGBOTTOM!__" _Gran roared, shaking tea from her hands and hair. "WHAT IN THE NAME OF _MERLIN _DO YOU MEAN BY ALL OF THIS?"

Neville shrank back against the counter, his usual fear suddenly returned. "I- I don't know what happened.

"LEVITATING FURNITURE, SHATTERING HEIRLOOM CHINA, _DESTROYING_ THE KITCHEN-"

"Augusta..." Great-uncle Algie said weakly.

"-HOW YOU'RE EVER GOING TO MAKE UP FOR THIS- IF YOUR PARENTS COULD SEE YOU NOW- DON'T KNOW WHEN I'VE EVER BEEN MORE ASHAMED-"

"_Augusta!__" _he interrupted, a little more insistently this time.

"What could you _possibly_ need, Algernon?"

"Don't you hear what you're saying? Shattering china... levitating furniture... the boy's done it, Augusta, he's finally done it!"

"Done _what?_"

"Magic!" Great-uncle Algie was practically jumping up and down with joy. "Congratulations, Nev!" he cried, wrapping Neville in a bear hug that nearly suffocated him. "Looks like you're a wizard after all!"

"A wizard," Neville breathed. Never, in his wildest dreams...

"Well," Gran said in a business-like tone. "That's... I mean to say... congratulations." The praise sounded forced, but it was good enough for Neville. "Well, let's get this place cleaned up!"

A few quick _Reparo_ charms took care of the broken glass, but Neville was left to clean up the splattered tea. He didn't much care- his mind was in too much of a whirl to focus on anything other than the one thought that kept replaying itself like a broken record. _I'm __a __wizard... __I'm __not __a __Squib... __I'm __a __wizard..._

"Shall we do cake?" Great-uncle Algie asked an hour later, when Neville had finally finished cleaning. He placed a silver cake tray on the table, tapped it with his wand, and at once a magnificent cake appeared, all gooey chocolate with blue icing spelling out _Happy __Birthday, __Neville! _Neville grinned widely and took a seat at the table.

"Neville..." His grandmother fumbled for something in the huge handbag she had brought with her- much like the hat, the bag went everywhere she did. "I've got something here. For your birthday. I wasn't sure I'd ever get the chance to give it to you, but now... well..." She passed him a long box, tied shut with a piece of ribbon. Neville thought he knew what it was.

"Gran..." he said quietly as he loosened the ribbon.

"It was your father's," she told him as he took removed the wand carefully from its velvet-lined box. "He performed great magic with this wand. I expect you to do the same." Neville grinned. Coming from Gran, that was a loving sentiment.

A piercing screech came from the direction of the window. Neville looked up to see a large, handsome barn owl perched on the sill. "Here it is!" Great-uncle Algie cried, clapping his hands in excitement. Neville's heart thumped wildly. This was all happening so fast...

Gran untied the envelope from the owl's leg, paid him, and handed the letter to Neville. "I suspect you know what this is."

_Mr. N. Longbottom_

_The Kitchen_

_Algernon Longbottom Residence_

_Pluckley_

_Kent_

It was sealed with wax on the back- the seal of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Neville felt a warmth on his cheeks, and when he touched them, he realized they were wet. But for the first time in his life, they were not tears of sadness, or frustration- they were tears of joy.

_I'm __a __wizard_.


	2. The Hogwarts Express

_**THE HOGWARTS EXPRESS**_

The rest of the summer rushed by in a whirl of activity. The very next day they made a trip to Diagon Alley, where they bought robes, textbooks, potion supplies, and a telescope. Great-uncle Algie came along and bought Neville a pet toad as a "Congratulations" present. Neville called the toad "Trevor," and it spent most of the remainder of the summer sitting on his desk in his bedroom, glaring at him with bulbous eyes and croaking miserably as if it felt it had been dealt a very raw deal in life.

They spent most of August visiting various family members. Gran seemed determined to prove that Neville was not an embarrassment to the name "Longbottom." Neville proudly showed off his Hogwarts letter to every disbelieving aunt, uncle, and cousin who used to mock him for his apparent lack of magic. It gave him a sort of bitter satisfaction to see them all gaping at him and hear their begrudging praise.

On the morning of the first of September he woke early, too excited to sleep. But there was a nervousness, too- he had not managed to produce any more magic since his birthday, despite spending long hours in his room, waving his father's wand around and hoping for at least some sparks, if only to prove that what happened at Great-uncle Algie's had not been a fluke. What would the other students say if he showed up to class and couldn't master even the most basic of spells? It was a thought that filled him with terror and often kept him awake into the early hours of the morning.

He double-checked his packing, though Gran had done most of it for fear he would forget something important, and dragged his trunk downstairs. Gran was waiting for him in the kitchen. "Eat up," she ordered, sliding bacon, eggs, toast, and potatoes onto his plate. "It's a long ride to Hogwarts and I don't want you filling up on sweets. Are we clear?" Neville, whose mouth was too full of potatoes to speak, nodded in agreement. "I want to be at King's Cross no later than ten thirty," she went on. "That'll give you time to get squared away and find a good seat, as well as give us time to come back if, Heaven forbid, you should forget something." She shot him a look that told him quite plainly that if he _did_ forget anything, he would regret it.

At ten fifteen, he changed into his new black school robes. "Well," his grandmother said from outside his bedroom. "Let's have a look at you." He opened the door and saw her eyes go ride. "Oh, Neville," she gasped. He immediately checked his robes to make sure he hadn't torn or stained anything, but next thing he knew she had wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug and was whispering in his ear. "Your parents would be so proud."

"Thanks, Gran," he whispered back.

"Well, we'd best be going," she said, releasing him. "I'll be taking you by Side-Along Apparition, so you'll need to hold on tightly to your trunk- and don't let go of that infernal toad!" she added as Neville slid an indignantly croaking Trevor into the pocket of his robe. They went down stairs and gathered up his things. "Now, hold tight to me," she instructed, and gave her wand a flick.

It wasn't much better than Floo powder. There was a brief whirl of color and sound, and within seconds a rather disoriented Neville found himself standing in the middle of King's Cross Station.

"We're looking for platform nine-and-three-quarters!" Gran shouted over the noise of hundreds of people rushing to catch their trains. "It's sown this way, if I remember." She set off, Neville behind her struggling to keep up and not get lost. He hadn't spent much time in the Muggle world, and everything seemed to catch his attention- people in all manner of dress, all speaking different languages, jostled him on either side. He heard someone, presumably a Muggle, muttering something about "nutters in robes," and looked around to see if he could spot any other wizards. He couldn't, and found himself desperately hoping he wouldn't be the only one wearing his robes on the train.

"Here we are," she said, coming to a halt. Neville looked up at the signs above his head. There was platform nine, and platform ten, but there was no nine-and-three-quarters that he could see. "Er, Gran...?" he said uncertainly.

"I should have mentioned- platform nine-and-three-quarters is hidden from Muggle view," Gran explained. "You just have to run into the barrier between nine and ten-"

"I run into the barrier?" Neville said incredulously.

"Well, through it, really. Here, I'll go first so you can see how it's done."

Neville stared as Gran strode casually toward the barrier; next second, she had disappeared from view. Bracing himself, he ran forward, pushing his trunk and hoping the Muggles didn't notice...

...and sprawled, face-first, among a group of laughing teenagers.

"What d'you think, Fred?" a voice said above him. "First year?"

"Definitely," said a second, similar voice.

Neville pushed himself onto his knees, face burning, and felt around in his pocket for Trevor, praying he hadn't injured him. He felt the toad's skin under his fingers and tried to stroke him to comfort him, but Trevor was not having it. He hopped out of Neville's pocket and took off down the platform.

"Lee!" said the first voice. "Catch that toad!"

"I'm on it!" said a third voice, and Neville looked up to see a black boy a couple of years older than himself sprinting along the platform after Trevor

"Not off to a great start, are you?" the second voice asked with a chuckle, though not unkindly. A boy with bright red hair and freckles all over his body knelt down next to Neville and offered his hand. Neville took it and allowed the boy to pull him to his feet. "I'm Fred Weasley," the boy introduced himself. "And this is my twin, George." He gestured to an identical-looking boy who Neville took to be the source of the first voice.

"I'm Neville," Neville replied. "And thanks for your help, but I should probably go catch Trevor..." He wanted to avoid what he knew was coming next, what always happened when he introduced himself...

"Don't worry about it, Lee's got it under control," Fred- or was it George?- said. "Did you say your name was Neville?"

"Yes."

"Neville Longbottom?" Neville had decided that the left twin- the one who was speaking now- was George, and the right one, Fred. "Nah, can't be," George said to his brother.

"No, it is!" Fred said, pointing at Neville's forehead excitedly. "Look, I can see his scar!"

"SSSHHH!" Neville hissed furiously. The last thing he wanted right now was to draw _more _attention to himself.

"Neville!" Gran came rushing over. Neville noticed the twins staring in bemusement at the vulture hat and felt even more embarrassed. "I was wondering where you'd got to! It's nearly time to leave!" She seemed suddenly to see the gaping twins and said, "Ah... Weasleys."

"At your service!" the twins said in unison.

"Yes, I'd recognize a Weasley anywhere," Gran told them. "You all look exactly the same, right down to the freckles. You know, there are spells to take care of those..."

"_Gran!__"_

"I'm only trying to help, Neville. Come with me, it's time we said our goodbyes."

"Nice meeting you, Neville!" the twins called as he followed Gran to the other end of the platform.

_Shut__up!_He thought, looking around in a most paranoid manner, but nobody seemed to have taken any notice of the name. He saw the other boy, Lee, holding a struggling Trevor and held up a finger to indicate that he would only be a moment. Lee nodded to show he understood.

"Well," Gran said, looking over toward the train tracks as a scarlet steam engine game roaring up to the platform. "This is it... or rather, it's the beginning. Now, I know I haven't always been, shall we say, patient with you, but I want you to know, Neville Longbottom, that I have never been prouder of you than I am right now."

To her obvious surprise, Neville wrapped his arms around her. "Thanks, Gran," he said softly. "For everything."

She bent down slightly and patted him awkwardly on the back. "No need to get sentimental, now," she laughed, and Neville could have sworn she sounded slightly teary. But when she straightened, there was no trace of wetness on her cheeks. "Well... better go find yourself a seat." Neville gave her one last quick hug, gathered his things, retrieved Trevor from Lee and, taking a deep breath, stepped up onto the Hogwarts Express.

He found a seat in an empty compartment, which was what he preferred- he wouldn't be able to enjoy the train ride with people gawping at his forehead. He waved to Gran out the window as the steam engine roared away, and had started feeling a little homesick before the train was even out of the station. He decided to take the opportunity to have a nap, since he had woken up so early, but just as he was getting comfortable, the compartment door slid open. Neville quickly smoothed his bangs down over his forehead and tried to look nonchalant as two boys stepped through the door.

The first was tall and gangly, and his resemblance to Fred and George Weasley was so striking it couldn't possibly be a coincidence. His clothes looked like they were all several-time hand-me-downs; his shirt was too loose and his jeans were too short. The other boy, who was carrying a beautiful snowy owl in a cage, had brilliant green eyes framed by a pair of round glasses, and thick black hair that stood up in all directions, as if he had just rolled out of bed. He wore a black leather jacket over his _Irish N__ational __Quidditch __Team_ T-shirt, and had an easy, friendly smile that caused Neville too immediately relax. Though they hadn't even met yet, something about the aura this boy gave off told Neville he was the leader of the two. He was dismayed to see that neither of them were wearing robes.

"Mind if we join you?" the dark-haired boy asked in a cheerful tone.

"Everywhere else is full," the redhead added.

"Er..." Neville hesitated. Before he had a chance to make up his mind, the door closed and both boys took a seat across from him

"Thanks," the dark-haired boy said. He offered a hand, and Neville shook it. "I'm Harry Potter, by the way, and this is Ron Weasley." _Gran __was __right_, Neville thought. _All __the __Weasleys _do _look __alike_. "What's your name?" Harry asked.

"It's-" For a moment he considered lying, but what would be the good in that? The truth would come out as soon as they got to the school. "It's Neville."

The atmosphere in the compartment changed drastically. _Here __it __comes._"Neville Longbottom?" Ron asked, barely concealing his excitement. Neville nodded miserably. "Blimey! Fred and George told me Neville Longbottom was on the train, but I didn't believe it. I don't think they told anybody else!" he added quickly, seeing the horrified expression on Neville's face. "I can't believe this. Wait till I tell Mum I rode to Hogwarts with Neville Longbottom!"

"Leave him alone, mate," Harry said from where he sat slouched against the window.. "Sorry about that. I'll bet you get really sick of all the attention."

"Yeah." Neville recalled the trip to Diagon Alley a month ago. A woman in Flourish and Blott's had spotted his scar and next thing he knew, people were swarming around him: "Can I have an autograph, Mr. Longbottom?" "Mind if I get my picture with you, Neville?" "NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM, WILL YOU MARRY MY DAUGHTER?"

There was a brief silence before Ron changed the subject. "By the way, Harry, nice jacket."

"Thanks." Harry grinned and plucked a piece of hair off the sleeve. "Sirius gave it to me for my birthday."

The name sounded familiar to Neville- after all, it wasn't exactly common. "Sirius Black?" he inquired. Harry nodded. "I've heard my Gran mention him. She says he's a great, overgrown delinquent. Something about riding a flying motorbike over our house in the middle of the night... anyway, she doesn't think much of him."

Harry's expression changed from friendly to cold instantaneously. "He happens to be my godfather," he said coldly.

"Oh, wow, I'm sorry-"

"You may be the Boy who Lived, Longbottom," Harry said dangerously, standing up and pulling his wand out of the pocket of his jacket, "but I can easily turn you into the Boy who Died Slowly and Painfully at Eleven for Running his Mouth."

"Look, I didn't mean-"

There was a loud snort. Neville looked over at Ron, who was doubled over in his seat, clutching his stomach, his face bright red. "Something funny?" Harry asked angrily.

"Harry... you're my best friend... but that was one of the most pathetic threats I've ever heard!" He was practically choking with the effort of stifling his laughter. Harry looked affronted.

"He insulted Sirius!" he exclaimed. He raised his wand in front of Neville's face and stepped closer.

"Oh, come off it, what are you going to do, shoot some sparks at him?" Ron had almost stopped laughing, but he was still gasping for breath and wiping tears from his eyes. "Look, accept his apology for now, and maybe you two can duel each other third year when you know some _actual_ spells."

"Fine." Harry stuffed his wand back in his pocket. "Apology accepted."

"So," Neville said nervously, trying to break the tension that had settled over the compartment. "How do you two know each other? Are you related?" They seemed about as close as brothers.

"Well," Harry said, back to his original, easy-going attitude. "All the pure-blood families are related in some way, but we actually met at a reunion of the Order of the Phoenix."

"The people who fought against You-Know-Who when he was in power," Ron clarified, as Neville looked blank. "Harry's parents were in it. Mine weren't, but Mum's brothers were. Died for it, too," he told them, looking proud.

"That's cool," Neville said. "I don't know anyone at Hogwarts. Gran didn't let me visit other kids much."

"Why not?"

"Well, to be honest, my family thinks I'm a bit of... an embarrassment." He blushed furiously.

"Why?"

_Why? __Why __not? __Why?_ He sighed irritably. "Because, well, I can't really do magic."

"Well, none of us can!" Harry said. "That's why we're going to school, isn't it? So we can learn to do it."

"You don't understand," he said miserably. "They didn't even think I would be magic enough to come. I never even managed to do _anything_until about a month ago, and I haven't been able to do anything since!"

"Well, Sirius says Hogwarts has got some of the best teachers in the world," Harry said. "So if anyone can train you, it's them."

Ron had a different thought. "If you can't do any magic, how'd you defeat You-Know-Who?"

"That's the mystery, isn't it?" Harry answered before Neville had a chance. "Nobody knows."

"I know that, but surely you'd have to be a bloody powerful wizard to-"

He paused mid-sentence when he heard a loud thumping noise. "Excuse me!" came a muffled voice from outside the compartment. A girl with bushy brown hair was pounding on the door. "Could you please let me in?" Harry got up and opened the door. "Thanks so much!" the girl said. Neville was pleased to see that she had already changed into her uniform. "I'm Hermione Granger," she said a little breathlessly. What are all of your names?"

Once the introductions were complete, Hermione took a seat next to Neville and said, "Are you all excited? I know I am. I can't believe this is all really happening, I was so surprised when I got my letter, no one in my family's magic at all, but Professor McGonagall came to our house and explained everything and they're very pleased, though I think they're a bit disappointed I won't be a dentist. I can't wait to get started, I've already read all my books, of course, and I _hope _we start straight away, there's so much to learn! Anyway, I really appreciate your letting me sit here, I was actually sitting with some other girls a few compartments down and we were all having a really nice conversation, but then I got up to go to the loo and when I got back the door was locked!"

"Can't imagine why," Ron mumbled.

"Do any of you know what house you'll be in?"

"Gryffindor, for sure!" Harry said, grinning widely.

"Same," Ron said. "My entire family have been. So they're sort of expecting it, but it won't be anything special if I do, since everyone else did it first."

"I hope I'm in Gryffindor," Hermione said. "Dumbledore himself was in it, you know. Though I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad. What about you, Neville?"

"Well, my parents were both in Gryffindor," he said. "But I'm nowhere near brave enough to get in. I'll bet I'm in Hufflepuff."

"Well," said Ron comfortingly, "that wouldn't be too bad, would it? Better than Slytherin anyway..."

"Yeah, but my Gran will be really disappointed if I don't get into-" He plunged his hand into his pocket- he had a strange feeling something was amiss. "Has anyone seen Trevor?"

"Who?"

"My toad, Trevor!"

"You brought a _toad?_" Ron guffawed.

"Lost something, have you?" came a cold, drawling voice from the doorway. Neville hadn't even realized the door had been left open. The newcomer was a very pale boy with silvery-blond hair and calculating gray eyes, flanked by two much larger boys who looked more like the offspring of a mountain troll than human beings. His eyes fell on Neville's forehead, and he smirked. "Well, well. Neville Longbottom. Is this your toad?" He gestured at the larger of his two cronies, who was holding a resigned-looking Trevor in his meaty hands. "I thought they went out of fashion in the late seventies."

"Who are you?" Harry demanded, looking annoyed.

"Draco Malfoy. And you must be Harry Potter." Harry looked surprised that this obnoxious boy knew him. "Don't look so shocked, Potter your family is practically famous in certain circles." Something about this statement caused Harry to reach for his wand again. Malfoy chuckled. "Touched a nerve, have I?" He rounded on Ron. "No need to ask who you are, of course. You Weasleys are all the same- red-headed, dumpy, and hideously spotty. And Longbottom-" He returned to Neville. "I was under the impression orphans always looked a bit peaky, but you're certainly not at risk of starving to death anytime soon. Why don't we just refer to you as "Fat Arse" from now on and simplify things?"

Harry had thrown down his wand and was about to engage Malfoy in a Muggle-style duel when a magically magnified voice sounded through the train: "All Hogwarts students should prepare to exit the train. Leave your belongings, they will be brought up to the castle for you. That is all."

Ron glowered "You were lucky, Malfoy."

"Now give Neville back his toad," Hermione ordered.

The boy holding the toad looked at Malfoy, as if waiting for his command. "Go ahead, Goyle," Malfoy said with a lazy sort of indifference. As he left, he turned to smile nastily at them all. "See you in class tomorrow, Potty, Weasel... Fat Arse. Let's see if the Boy who Lived is as powerful as history makes him out to be." And with a swish of his robes, he was gone.

"My dad warned me about the Malfoys," Ron growled as they left the train. Trevor safely in his pocket again, Neville walked quickly, eager to get up to the school and have something to eat. "They were one of the first families to go Dark and one of the first to deny it all when You-Know-Who fell."

"Cowards," Harry said bitterly.

"But don't worry about that now, Neville," Ron went on cheerily. "We're here! We're at Hogwarts. I tell you, this is going to be the best seven years of our lives!"

Neville hoped he was right.


	3. Introductions

Hello** and thanks to everyone who has been following this, my first fan fic- I hope you're enjoying it! I'm planning to take Neville's story up through all his seven years at Hogwarts. Obviously, this may or may not happen, but I'm really having fun interpreting how things may have turned out if Neville had been chosen over Harry. Feel free to leave a review, constructive criticism is always appreciated. **

"_**INTRODUCTIONS"**_

"Firs' years! Firs' years, over here!"

"Who is that?" Neville asked, squinting his eyes to try and get a better look at the massive figure that stood ahead of them in the dark. Harry and Hermione both shrugged.

"I think that's Hagrid," Ron answered. "I've heard my brothers mention him. He's the groundskeeper or something. I didn't realize he was so huge..."

"Firs' years, this way!"

They broke into a run and quickly found themselves at the edge of a large lake, where the rest of the first years had already congregated in front of a bunch of small boats. It looked black in the dark, and Neville wondered what sorts of terrifying creatures might be lurking in its depths.

"I've heard there's a giant squid in there," Harry said, as if reading his mind. Hermione looked fearful- apparently massive, slimy sea monsters weren't any more appealing in the Muggle world.

"Arr, that squid won' hurt yeh none," said a gruffly cheerful voice. Neville jumped. The enormous figure had stepped out into the moonlight, revealing a wild-looking giant of a man with a great tangle of bushy hair and beard. With shiny black boots the size of kitchen basins and a brown leather coat, he looked like a biker who had accidentally stepped in front of an Engorgement Charm. He smiled at the new students warmly, the corners of his black eyes crinkling. "It's the merpeople yeh gotta watch out fer... Name's Rubeus Hagrid, by the way. Keeper of Keys an Grounds at Hogwarts." He puffed his chest out importantly. "And who are you lot?"

"Harry Potter," Harry said, stepping forward confidently to shake the giant's hand. "And these are Hermione, Ron, and Neville," he added, gesturing at the others.

As Neville was quickly becoming accustomed to, Hagrid's eyes widened with understanding and found their way to his scar. "That can' be li'l Neville Longbottom?"

"Er... yes," Neville mumbled very uncomfortably. He noticed that the rest of the gathered students had turned their heads to stare at him. "Nice to meet you, er, sir."

"No need to call me 'sir,'" Hagrid said. "Blimey, Neville, I ain't seen you since you was a baby. How've yeh been these las' ten years? Fam'ly treatin' yeh righ'?"

"I'm sorry to be rude," Neville said quickly, "but shouldn't we be getting up to the castle?"

"Oh... righ'." Hagrid began issuing commands in what he clearly thought was an authoritarian tone. "So, er, we're gonna get in these here boats and go across the lake ter the castle. No more'n four to a boat, if yeh don' mind, I'd prefer not ter have ter explain to professor Dumbledore why a bunch of his firs' years 'ave drowned." The first years chuckled nervously, and Neville was sure that they, like him, were all picturing being dragged underwater by the squid or the merpeople. "Alrigh', get in then, an' let's go!"

Neville, Harry, Ron, and Hermione found a boat together, and at Hagrid's command the entire fleet began sailing of their own accord across the smooth, dark water. "How do they sort us?" Hermione asked the others, staring in awe at the castle on the other side of the lake. Neville was glad she brought it up- even though Gran had gone to Hogwarts, he had never really asked her about it and was entirely unfamiliar with its traditions and practices.

"Well," said Ron slowly, "Fred and George mentioned something about wrestling a troll-"

"Don't be thick," Harry said. "Sirius told me we've just got to try on a hat."

"What, that's it?"

"Well, to be fair, it's a really ugly hat."

As they neared the castle, Neville's stomach began to churn with dread. He saw Hermione looking pale in the moonlight, muttering spells and textbook passages under her breath. Ron was looking slightly bored, convinced as he was that his acceptance to Hogwarts didn't matter to his family since they'd been through it so many times before. Only Harry seemed truly confident- or maybe "arrogant" was a more accurate word. He hadn't quite made up his mind whether the boy was really that sure of himself, or whether that cool, slightly cocky exterior was nothing more than a facade to conceal the nerves he was really feeling.

The little boat came to a sudden, jarring halt- they had reached the other side of the lake. "Alrigh'," Hagrid called, stepping out of his boat, in which he was the only passenger. "Follow me up ter the school, everyone, an' let's get you lot sorted!"

They followed him up a stone pathway to the castle. Neville nearly slipped several times on the wet stones, but Harry or Ron was always there to catch him. Eventually they reached a set of great wooden doors at the front of the castle, which creaked open slowly as they approached. "Got yer firs' years righ' here, Professor McGonagall!" Hagrid called to someone Neville couldn't see over the sea of heads in front of him.

"Thank you, Hagrid, I'll take them from here." Hagrid disappeared through the wooden doors. "Well, don't just stand there, come inside!" a stern, female voice ordered. As the mass of students squeezed through the doors, Neville was able to spot the source of the voice- a tall witch in green robes and a tall pointed hat, with her hair drawn back in a severe bun at the back of her head. "Well," she said when everyone had squeezed into what looked like a sort of lobby. "Welcome to Hogwarts. My name is Professor McGonagall. The Sorting ceremony will begin in just a few moments. Until then- and during- I expect you all to be on your best-" She stopped suddenly and began marching purposefully toward the middle of the back row, right where Neville was standing. He experienced a moment of panic... but no... it wasn't him she coming toward with that furious look on her face...

"You!" she barked loudly. It was amazing, Neville thought, how she could use her height to make herself appear so much more intimidating. "What's your name?"

Harry, who had been whispering in Ron's ear, looked up without any sign of embarrassment. "Who, me?"

"Yes, you!"

"Harry Potter, Professor."

"Ah, yes. And you do not consider it rude, Mr. Potter, to be chatting with your friends while I am in the middle of providing you and your classmates with important information?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

"I warn you, Mr. Potter, such behavior will not be tolerated at Hogwarts- and especially not in Gryffindor house, should you be sorted there." She stepped back from Harry to address the room at large. "Hogwarts runs its houses on a point system- merits and accomplishments will earn your house points; rule breaking will lose them. As such, I will be taking five points from whatever house Mr. Potter here finds himself sorted into. Let him be an example to you all." Harry looked sheepishly at his feet, and Neville couldn't help but feel a certain thrill as the other students glared at the black-haired boy- it was nice to see that Harry wasn't quite as perfect as he seemed. "Now, when you enter the great hall, you will see a hat sitting on a stool. When your name is called, you will sit on the stool and place the Sorting Hat on your head and wait for it to call out your house assignment. Do not be alarmed if the process takes several minutes- houses are not assigned willy-nilly. There are certain qualities that students in each house traditionally possess- for example, Hufflepuffs are known for they're loyalty, while Ravenclaw students are recognized for their wit and intellect. Now, the ceremony is ready to begin, so let's all take our places in the great hall and_ try _not to embarrass ourselves."

The first years followed Professor McGonagall into a magnificent hall. At one end was a table filled with staff members all dressed in their best robes, with the exception of Hagrid, who was still wearing his long coat and drinking heartily out of an enormous tankard. Perpendicular to this table ran four longer tables filled with students, each sporting a house banner above it. But what Neville found most fascinating was the ceiling; it was as if stars were moving above his head, and he gasped in amazement as a perfectly real-looking cloud moved over a bright white moon.

"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside," Hermione whispered, sensing his awe. "I read about it in _Hogwarts, a History_."

A tall wizard with long white hair and beard and a crooked nose stood up from where he sat at the head of the staff table. Though Neville had never seen him before, he knew immediately who this must be- Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster. Dumbledore clapped his hands loudly, and once he had the attention of the students cried, "Let the sorting being!"

Professor McGonagall stepped next to the stool and produced a long piece of parchment out of thin air, which Neville suspected contained the names of students to be sorted. Her eyes scanned the list for a moment, and then she called out, "Hannah Abbott!" A slightly plump girl with long, blond pigtails and a pink face nervously approached the stool, sat down, and donned the hat. Suddenly, a wide tear appeared near the brim, opened up like a mouth, and the hat shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

There was a roar of applause from the table whose banner sported a large black badger. Hannah rushed off to join her new housemates, looking very much relieved to no longer be the center of attention.

Professor McGonagall continued to read down the list: "Susan Bones... Terry Boot... Vincent Crabbe..." Some students, such as Crabbe, had barely a chance to put the hat on before it screamed out their house (Slytherin, in Crabbe's case), while others were forced to wait for agonizing lengths of time before the hat reached its decision. Neville was beginning to sweat by the time Professor McGonagall called for, "Hermione Granger!"

"Good luck," Neville hissed as Hermione ran to take her place on the stool. She sat down, looking somewhat apprehensive. Neville flashed her a supportive smile- he noted, however, that Harry and Ron did not. The hat seemed to deliberate for a long time before finally announcing, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione breathed an audible sigh of relief and walked proudly over to the Gryffindor table.

At this point, Neville was seriously beginning to consider boarding the train back home and forgetting all about magic... who was he kidding, he wasn't a wizard, he wasn't even good enough to make it into Hufflepuff... but then he thought what Gran would say if he gave up now... she wouldn't stop at hexing him, that much was certain...

"Neville Longbottom!"

"Longbottom, did she say?"

"_The_ Neville Longbottom?"

Neville hesitated- he thought his legs might give out if he tried to move. "Go on, mate," Harry said, giving him a gentle shove. He felt a vague sense of detachment as he approached the stool on shaky legs, as if he were watching himself from above... and then he was sitting on the stool, putting the hat on top of his head and thinking how ridiculous he must look as it slid down over his eyes...

_Well, well, well_, said a voice inside his head. Neville jumped slightly in his seat, nearly toppling the stool. He tried to ignore the muffled-sounding laughter of the other students as the hat (at least, he hoped it was the hat and that he wasn't developing some sort of psychosis) continued to speak inside his mind. _Longbottom, eh? Interesting, very interesting_... _your abilities are minimal now, but that doesn't mean they can't be developed _... _there's a strong sense of loyalty- bravery, too, though you may not realize it now _... _but there's a darkness as well, something hidden deep down_... _now where to put you_?

Neville's mouth went dry at the word "darkness." How could he possibly have any darkness inside him? Both his parents had been in Gryffindor, he had never done anything wrong in his life that he could remember, not seriously wrong... surely putting salt in the sugar bowl wasn't enough to earn him a place in Slytherin... he thought of Draco Malfoy and couldn't imagine being forced to spend his next seven years with people like that.

_Not Slytherin, eh? t_he hat said, seeming to read his thoughts. _Are you sure? Slytherin would help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that- no? Well, if you're sure_... Neville was at the point of hyperventilating now, squeezing his eyes shut and tensing his body as he waited for the hat to reach its decision...

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The hall erupted with applause and cheering. Neville's mouth dropped open. Surely the hat had made a mistake! But he wasn't about to complain. He jumped from the stool and sprinted toward the Gryffindor table.

"Take the hat off, you great stupid prat!" came a shout from one of the Slytherins.

Blushing furiously, Neville removed the hat and placed it back on the stool, then ran back to join his fellow Gryffindors. _Fellow Gryffindors_**. **How he loved that phrase.

"Congratulations, Neville!" Fred and George Weasley had each taken one of his hands and were shaking them so hard he thought they might detach. "Listen, come meet our brother, he's the new Gryffindor prefect this year..."

"There's more of you?" Neville asked tiredly. Now that the nerves were beginning to wear off, he felt rather exhausted- not to mention hungry.

"There's Bill and Charlie, who're out of school," George answered as he ushered Neville along the table. "Then Percy- he's the one you're going to meet now- then us, and Ron, and then our sister Ginny, but she's not old enough to be here yet. Perce!" he said to another red-haired boy at the end of the table. "Meet Neville Longbottom!"

Neville's first impression was of a rather serious, bookish sort of boy as Percy Weasley held out a hand for Neville to shake. "Welcome to Gryffindor," he greeted Neville with a much more proper air than that of his brothers. "I trust you'll do your best to abide by our rules and bring honor to the house?"

"Er... yeah... of course," Neville replied, slightly befuddled by this pompous prefect.

"Oh, shut up, Percy!" Fred said, rolling his eyes. "I tell you," he ranted as he, George and Neville took seats near Hermione, "he's been getting a really swelled head since that badge came in the mail last month-"

"-Wearing it around at home like he's prefect of _our_ house, too," George finished, looking disgusted. "Fred, if I ever get one of those badges, please promise you'll hold me down and hex me until you're sure I'm back to normal."

"I would be shirking my brotherly duty if I didn't."

"Quiet, the both of you!" Hermione hissed. "Harry's being sorted!"

Neville watched as Harry strode confidently up to the stool and sat down. The hat had barely grazed his hair before it roared, "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Excellent!" George said, giving Harry a congratulatory clap on the shoulder as he joined the Gryffindor table. Within minutes, Ron had joined them as the final new Gryffindor student, looking content, though not impressed. After Blaise Zabini was made a Slytherin, Professor McGonagall cleared away the stool and hat, and Professor Dumbledore stood up from his seat at the staff table. "Welcome, all of you, to a new year at Hogwarts. Before we begin our feast, Mr. Filch has asked me to inform you all that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side will be out of bounds this year to anyone who does not wish to die a very painful death. Additionally, first years are to be aware that the Forbidden Forest is strictly out-of-bounds... and a few of our older students would do well to remember that, as well." The twins chuckled. Dumbledore paused to let the information sink in, then clapped his hands and said, "Well, what are we waiting for? Dig in!"

Suddenly, all the tables were heaped with dishes and food. Neville couldn't make up his mind what to eat first. As he heaped his plate with food, the first years did introductions- there were Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, two rather obnoxious girls whom Hermione looked rather unimpressed to be sharing a dormitory with; Dean Thomas, who had been raised by Muggles and had a bit of an obsession with some sport called "football;" Seamus Finnigan, whose mother had never informed his Muggle father that she was a witch until they were already married ("Bit of a nasty shock for him."). "I'm Neville Longbottom, and I live with my Gran," Neville said when it came his turn, mentally kicking himself for telling them something they probably already knew. "She's a bit strict, but she raised me all on her own and it wasn't always easy, so I guess I sort of admire her for that." He averted his eyes and blushed. Conversation wasn't really his forte.

"And what about you?" Seamus asked, turning to Harry.

"My name's Harry Potter and I live with my godfather, Sirius," Harry said simply, and turned back to the mound of mashed potatoes he was in the process of wolfing down.

"Well, come on, you've got to give us more than that, we all opened up to you!" Dean said indignantly.

"I don't want to talk about my family," Harry said thickly, glaring around at them all.

"That's not how this works, mate-"

"Leave it, Dean," Ron said suddenly.

"No, it's not fair, everyone else did it... why do you live with your godfather, Harry?"

"DEAN!" Ron said sharply, but it was too late- Harry was already on his feet, bristling with rage, his green eyes flashing furiously.

"My family is none of anybody's business!" he shouted, slamming the fist that was holding his fork down on the table. He whirled around and ran out of the great hall. Ron, looking embarrassed and apologetic, stood up to follow him. "Sorry," he mumbled. "He gets like this sometimes. He's just-" He sighed as if he had been through this many times before. "I'll go after him."

"Wonder what his problem is?" Seamus mused as Ron dashed out of the hall after his friend.

This time, it was Fred who spoke.

"Harry... he's been through some things," he said quietly. "I can't really blame him for not wanting to talk about them. If he wants to tell you, he'll tell you when he's ready. Until then, don't pressure him. If you'd been through what he has, you'd understand. Are we clear?"

The group nodded in agreement, though Dean still looked somewhat irritated.

The silence was broken by Percy, who stretched, yawned widely, and said, "Well, all, it's been a long day and I'm sure we're all tired... Gryffindors," he called down the length of the table, "if you wouldn't mind following me up to the dormitories, please..."

"They do mind, Percy, they're just too polite to say so," George quipped.

"I'm not!" Seamus piped up. "I don't understand why we have to have all this prefect business, anyway."

Percy folded his arms across his chest and stared at the assembled Gryffindors. "_Because_," he said, drawing himself up importantly, "without prefects there would be no order, and without order there would be no education, and with no education you'll all end up bar-tending and washing dishes at the Leaky Cauldron!"

_Why does everybody think that would be such a bad thing_?Neville wondered.

"I could live with that," Fred said with a shrug.

Percy glowered. "You're well on your way, little brother. Now, enough nonsense. You've all got a big first day tomorrow and you need your sleep." They followed him up to the dormitories without another word.


	4. Bullied

_**BULLIED**_

Neville slept comfortably that night in his new four-poster bed. Granted, his section of the dormitory was not as big as his bedroom at Gran's had been, and Seamus proved to be a loud snorer, but there was something comforting and satisfying about being surrounded by so many people he could call friends.

Harry and Ron hadn't come in until after Neville was asleep, and no mention of the boy's bizarre behavior was made at breakfast the next morning. Harry acted in a very friendly manner toward Dean and the others, and gave no indication that he was upset in any way. Still, Neville couldn't help feeling that his perky attitude was TOO perky. He wondered what Harry wasn't telling them.

After breakfast, Neville, Harry, Ron, and Hermione headed off for their first class of the day- double potions with the Slytherins. Whispers followed them as they made their way through the maze-like corridors of the castle: "Neville Longbottom? No way!" "Yeah, right over there." Girls seemed to think he couldn't hear their excited giggles; Slytherins seemed to think he couldn't hear their mocking ones. He walked with his head down, trying to tune it all out, and he had distractedly walked up several flights of stairs before he realized that he had been separated from the rest of the group. Panic began to set in as he determined that he had no idea where he was.

"Er, excuse me," he said, running up to an older girl who was talking with some friends. "I was on my way to Potions and I sort of got lost... I was wondering if-"

The girl looked at his scar and sneered. It was then that he noticed the Slytherin badge pinned to her chest. "Find your own way, Longbottom," she snapped. "I don't like Gryffindors at the best of times."

"What seems to be the trouble, Longbottom?" a familiar voice drawled. Neville groaned inwardly and turned around to face Draco Malfoy and his two cronies, whose names, Neville had learned, were Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. "Lost our way, have we? Potty and the Weasel ditch you?" Malfoy asked with a nasty smirk. "Can't say I blame them. I wouldn't want to be seen with you, either-"

"Drop dead, Malfoy," Neville snarled, much more bravely than he felt. He attempted to shove his way past, but Goyle's massive bulk knocked him to the floor as if he had run full force into a brick wall. Malfoy leered down at him, mouth curved into a menacing grin.

"You may be somewhat famous for your little accidental accomplishment, Longbottom," he said softly, pale gray eyes glinting, "but it's time you learned who holds the _real _power around here. My father could buy the entire Ministry if he wanted to. Your father is turning to dust in a wooden box. That's the difference between you and me."

"I don't have to buy friends," Neville said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "That's another one."

Malfoy's face contorted with fury. "Crabbe, Goyle!" He jerked his chin toward Neville, an unspoken command that the other two clearly understood. Neville choked as he was forced against the cold stone wall by his throat. A fist connected with his groin and his eyes filled with tears. Another slammed into his stomach and he had to fight hard not to vomit. Before he had even completely registered what was happening he was being pummeled all over his body- fists, knees, elbows, and feet making contact with body parts he hadn't even realized he had...

"Leave him alone."

The beating abruptly ceased. The pressure on his throat was lifted. Holding himself, Neville collapsed to the floor, gasping and dry-retching, unable to even cry properly. He had never known it was possible to hurt this much. He heard rather than saw Malfoy whirl around to face whoever had just walked in on the fight- or maybe "assault" was a better word; "fight," in Neville's opinion, implied a sort of mutuality, and what had just occurred had most definitely been one sided.

"And who are _you_?" he heard Malfoy sneer.

"Hermione Granger." Her voice was dangerously calm as she added, "We met on the train yesterday. Not that I would expect you to remember, preoccupied as you were with harassing people you hadn't even met yet. Do you mind if I ask you what exactly makes you think you're so great?"

At this, the three Slytherins laughed. "If you don't know," Malfoy said, "you've either been living under a rock, or you're Muggle-born."

"And that would be a bad thing, would it?"

"Oh yeah," Malfoy said with a chuckle. "_definitely_ Muggle-born."

"I suggest you three get to class," Hermione said coldly. "I hear Professor Snape gets a bit irate when his students are late."

"What are you going to do, make us? Because I was actually thinking we might have a little more fun with Fat Arse here..."

"Go right ahead," Hermione said. Neville finally recovered enough to glance up and see Hermione twirling her wand around in her fingers as if she were just itching to finally put it to use. "But I should warn you, I know at least six curses to make body parts shrivel up and fall off, and some of them are more unpleasant than others, if you understand my meaning."

"You're bluffing," Malfoy said, but Neville thought he saw his gray eyes narrow in fear as he spoke.

"Not all of us let our spell books sit in the closet over the summer," she replied, raising her wand. "Are you really willing to take that risk?" The three skulked off without another word, though not before Crabbe took the opportunity to stomp heavily on Neville's left arm.

Once they were gone, Hermione crouched down next to Neville and helped him pull himself into a sitting position. He gasped, fighting back tears. "Are you okay?" she asked gently.

I'm f-f-fine." In fact, he couldn't remember when he had ever been _less_ fine. His body felt like one enormous bruise and there was blood all over his robes, though it was hard to determine precisely where it had all come from.

"I was wondering where you'd got to," she told him. "One minute I was talking to Harry and next minute I turned around and you were gone. What are you doing up on the fifth floor, anyway?"

"Got lost," he said thickly. He wiped his face across the sleeve of his robe. It came away bloody and he felt his nose begin to throb with pain. He turned his head so she wouldn't see him blush as he said, "Thanks for, you know... rescuing me."

"It was no big deal. You know, I'm really starting to hate that Malfoy," she huffed.

"You and me both."

"Two against one!" she raged. "I notice he didn't get involved himself, the little coward. But Neville, why on earth didn't you fight back?"

"I prefer to solve my problems with words instead of magic," he responded, not bothering to add that he didn't actually know any magic yet.

"Well, I admire your reluctance to curse your classmates, Neville, but sometimes you just need to learn to throw a good old-fashioned punch!" she cried. "What if you'd been seriously injured or something?" She grabbed one of his arms and placed it around her neck. "Can you stand? We have to get you to the hospital wing..."

"No."

She looked at him as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"What? Don't be ridiculous, you're bleeding everywhere-"

"I don't need some school nurse fussing over all my problems.

"Well, you've got to tell someone! McGonagall maybe, or Dumbledore...?"

"Hermione," he said firmly. "I don't want to get anyone involved in this, okay? It would only make things worse." Of this, he was positive.

"So you're just going to let them get away with this?"

"Why do you care?" he asked, genuinely bewildered, as he allowed her to pull him to his feet. His head swam and he wondered vaguely if he might be concussed, but he continued talking. "We've known each other for less than twenty-four hours. Why get yourself involved in my problems?"

Hermione was silent for some time as they made their way slowly down the corridor. Finally, she said, "Back at my old Muggle school, I used to get bullied by the other girls a lot. You might not think of girls bullying, but they do, terribly. A lot of it was more psychological- you know, calling me names, making up rumors and things, but I did get beaten up a lot, too. I guess I just don't like to see somebody else having to go through that."

"Well, I appreciate it," Neville grunted, not meeting her eyes. He wondered what his fellow male Gryffindors would say if they knew he'd been rescued from a fight by a girl whose head barely reached his nose. He decided to change the subject. "So, er, how's your first day going?"

"Not so great, honestly," she sighed. "As we were walking downstairs I was telling Harry and Ron some more about the history of the school, and Ron called me an obnoxious know-it-all and said some other fairly vulgar things I'm not going to repeat. Harry wasn't rude to me, but he didn't stick up for me, either. I'm afraid they don't really like me..."

"Well, if it's any consolation, I like you," Neville assured her.

She smiled. "You're sweet. Potions is in the dungeons, by the way," she informed him as she helped him maneuver his way down the first flight of stairs. She checked her watch and groaned. "We're going to be so late..."

"I'm sorry."

"No, honestly, it's no problem, I would want someone to do the same for me." But she was starting to walk more quickly and kept checking her watch compulsively as they hurried down the next few flights of stairs. "I just hope Professor Snape isn't as bad as everyone says- here we are!" she panted, pushing open the heavy dungeon door.

"Well, well, well," a smooth, malevolent-sounding voice said as Hermione and Neville stepped inside. A man with a sallow face, hooked nose, and lank, greasy black hair stood before a blackboard at the front of the room. He was smiling, but it was a dangerous smile, the sort a cat might give a mouse struggling under its paw. "Look who deigned to join us. Ms. Granger, I presume? And... ah, yes..."

The Potions master stepped forward and, with thin, pale fingers, pushed Neville's hair back from his forehead, causing him to shudder with a fear he couldn't explain. Snape's piercing black eyes took in the lightning scar and narrowed. "Neville Longbottom," he hissed. "Our new _celebrity_."

Neville flushed deeply as the Slytherin students, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle included, howled with laughter. A savage sort of pleasure crossed Snape's face as he straightened and said, "Granger, Longbottom- since you are both fifteen minutes late, I think we'll make it fifteen points a piece from Gryffindor, shall we?"

"Professor, that's not fair!" Hermione protested, looking panicked. "It wasn't our fault-"

"You question me, Granger?" Snape sneered. "Make it another ten."

"Malfoy and his friends were late, did they get points off?"

"That is between myself and Mr. Malfoy. Ten more points."

"Hermione, shut UP!" Ron barked.

"Ten for disrupting class, Weasley."

"Oh, come on, now you're just looking for excuses!" Harry piped up.

"Twenty from Potter... my, my, first day of classes and it looks like Gryffindor is already out of the running for the house cup." Snape shook his head, a sadistic grin curling up the corners of his mouth. He appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. "And five more from Longbottom for showing up to class in such an appalling state," he concluded finally. "Now, if you have all finished disrupting my class, we will proceed with the lesson."

"Hermione, why couldn't you just keep your big mouth shut, eh?" Ron snapped as Hermione and Neville took seats across from him and Harry. "Eighty-five points and we haven't even finished first period!" Neville glanced to his left to see Malfoy on the other side of the room, leaning back lazily in his chair and looking extremely smug. "You just couldn't let it go, could you?" Ron continued furiously. "Just _had_ to have the last word, just _had_ to be right-"

"Oh, shut up, you and Harry lost points too!" she retorted, tears beginning to leak out of her eyes. She threw her books back into her bag and stood up. "You know what, I can't deal with this. I don't _need_ to deal with this, I can tell it's going to be just like it was at my old school-"

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe _you_ were the source of the problem?" Ron said nastily.

Hermione let out a shriek of anger and frustration and tore out of the room sobbing, robes flying behind her. "Twenty points, Granger!" Snape called after her. Neville saw Lavender Brown whisper something to Parvati Patil, who covered her mouth with her fist and began shaking with laughter. He felt inexplicably angry. Why was it, he wondered, that people always made judgments without actually getting to know the person they were judging? People always treated him like some sort of hero because of something he had done without even realizing it; they treated Hermione terribly without getting to know her, just because she came off as a little abrasive at first... she seemed so disillusioned when she realized that wizards were no better than Muggles...

"That was harsh, mate," Harry said to Ron without looking up from the potion he had started preparing. "You barely even know her. You have to give people a chance before you make up your mind about them."

Neville said a silent _Thank you_ to whatever deity might be listening that there was at least one person in this room who wasn't totally unbearable. He shot a grateful glance at Harry, but the other boy was so immersed in his potion-making that he took no notice.

"I've given her enough of a chance. She's awful!" Ron said adamantly. "By the way, Neville, what the bloody hell happened to you?"

At that moment, something whizzed past Neville's ear and landed on the table in front of him. It was a ball of crumpled parchment. He unfolded it carefully and read:

TELL ANYONE AND I'LL CURSE YOUR - OFF.

The second-to-last word was so vulgar that Neville's eyes widened and his face went red. He crumpled it back up and stuffed it into the pocket of his robes. "I... I fell," he said lamely.

Harry raised an eyebrow. He leaned across the table, rolled up Neville's sleeve, and examined the bruised and bloodied skin beneath it. "You fell. You fell into a fist and a size thirteen Oxford shoe? With your arm?"

"Yes," Neville said, in a voice he hoped indicated that they would discuss it later. He absently dumped a handful of porcupine quills into his cauldron; there was an ominous hissing sound-

"NEVILLE!" Harry cried, grabbing the collar of Neville's robes to drag him away from the hissing mess that had once been his brand-new pewter cauldron, but it was too late. Neville moaned loudly as his already-painful skin erupted in agonizing boils and blisters. Harry let go of his robes and leapt from his seat, determined to keep well out of the way of whatever foul concoction Neville had created. The potion dripped into Neville's lap, burning small holes through his robe and jeans. The skin on his palms was red and angry looking and covered in sores. He had to bite his lip to keep from crying out.

"Idiot boy!" Snape bellowed, racing over. He thrust a nearby textbook into Neville's face. "Can't you read? You were at least three steps ahead of the porcupine quills, but perhaps you thought you would just take shortcuts and make your job easier? Finnigan!" he barked at Seamus, who was huddled over his own cauldron in the back of the room. "Take this fool up to the hospital wing!"

"Come on," Seamus said comfortingly, half-carrying Neville out of the dungeon. Neville gasped aloud as Seamus grazed his bruises. "Sorry," Seamus apologized. "You know, if it helps, we all know it was that little git, Malfoy. Or more specifically, his idiot friends. They were practically gloating about it when they came in. Dean and I are going to try and get them back later."

Neville wanted to tell Seamus that he didn't have to do that, but he was in too much pain to form coherent sentences. Still, he took a small pleasure in knowing that maybe he had more friends here than enemies- in fact, with the exception of the Slytherins, the only people he had taken a strong dislike to so far were Lavender and Parvati- though Ron seemed like he could really make people miserable if he wanted to. He would have to make it a point to stay on his good side...

Halfway to the hospital wing, they almost knocked over a man wearing a bizarre purple turban- Neville recognized him as one of the teachers, but he couldn't remember which one.

"W-w-what's the t-trouble boys?" he stuttered. He seemed, Neville thought, very young, and very nervous. It was then that he remembered that this was Professor Quirrell, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and wondered if perhaps the man wasn't entirely suited for the profession.

"Sorry, Professor Quirrell," Seamus said, since Neville was still in too much pain to do much besides groan and whimper. "Neville here had a little mishap with his potion- I was just taking him up to the hospital wing."

"N-Neville Longbottom?" Quirrell stammered. "Well, I look f-f-f-forward to having you in my c-c-c-class. Feel b-b-better." He continued down the hall.

"C'mon, Neville," Seamus said, re-positioning Neville's arm around his neck. "Those boils are getting all pus-y."

Neville gingerly lifted a foot to continue their slow way down the hall, but before he could even take a step, his head exploded with white-hot pain and he collapsed, unconscious, to the floor.


	5. WingarDEEum LevioSA!

**Hi! I'm going to try to keep these notes brief from now on, if I write them at all, because I feel they sort of detract from the story, but I just wanted to say thanks to Sara Wolfe, Illucida and Aroeheart, my first-ever reviewers! I'm glad to see people are enjoying the story (and I agree, Harry is a bit spoiled and cocky, but somehow I get the feeling Sirius wouldn't be a great parent- he sort of treats Harry more like his friend James than a son). Anyway, I appreciate the reviews, and now, on with the story!**

**_Wingar_DEE_um __Levio_SA!**

"Mr. Longbottom? Neville? Can you open your eyes?" A strange female voice was coming from somewhere above him, but he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes just yet. The back of his head throbbed as if he'd been hit with a Beater's club, while the scar on his forehead prickled painfully. He managed a groan but kept his eyes firmly shut.

"Neville?" A second female voice, higher and more familiar this time. "Neville, it's Hermione. Can you hear me?" He felt her hand on his arm, shaking him gently. "Neville, wake up."

He forced open his eyes, but quickly shut them again against the bright lights and blindingly white walls of what he assumed must be the hospital wing. He swallowed back the metallic taste in his mouth and squinted up at a mass of bushy brown hair. "Hermione?" he said groggily.

"Hey," she greeted him, smiling gently, though her eyes were filled with concern. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I just lost a fight with the Hogwarts Express." He rolled onto his side to see Seamus staring at him, his face pale gray. "What happened?"

"You blacked out," Seamus replied. He looked very shaken. Neville wondered if he had dragged him here himself. "They had to levitate you up the stairs," he went on, as if answering Neville's unasked question. "You've been out cold for over an hour."

"Alright, out of my way." A woman in nurse's robes squeezed her way past Seamus and Hermione and bent down to peer into Neville's face. "Madam Pomfrey, Mr. Longbottom. Tell me how you're feeling," she commanded in a business-like tone.

"My head hurts." His voice sounded thick and slurred, like Uncle Algie when he had had too much firewhisky. "And my skin."

Madam Pomfrey nodded as she checked his pulse. "A boil-curing potion gone wrong, unless I'm much mistaken. Ironically, it causes the exact symptoms it's intended to prevent. As for your head..." She swished her wand and aimed the thin beam of light that emanated from it into his eyes. "You've got a concussion. You'll be in some pain for a few days; the best thing you can do for it is rest. Mr. Finnigan, you share his dormitory?" Seamus nodded. "I'm holding you responsible to make sure he wakes up every few hours. Can you do that?"

"Absolutely."

"Now, what I'm really curious about is how you managed to sustain all those bruises."

Neville looked between Hermione and Seamus, who stared back at him expectantly, before replying, "I fell," which seemed to be becoming the standard lie. Madam Pomfrey looked skeptical, but didn't press the matter.

"You know," the nurse said, staring around at them all. "Usually I don't have any students in here at all the first day. This year I've got three before lunch time."

"Nah, I'm just here for the view," Seamus said as Madam Pomfrey bustled off to look for something in her cabinets.

"What are you doing here, anyway, Hermione?" Neville asked.

Hermione looked down at her feet in embarrassment. "Professor McGonagall found me crying in the girls' bathroom and sent me up here for a calming potion," she confessed. Seamus politely walked a short distance away and pretended to become engrossed in a pamphlet titled, "Magical Rashes and their Treatments." Hermione sighed and said, "Neville, what are we going to do? It's only the first day and look at us- you're one giant bruise, I'm an emotional wreck, and we've still got seven years to go. What are we going to be like when we're, say, sixteen?"

"I'll be in a body cast and you'll be locked in the mental ward of St. Mungo's. Seriously, though, it can only go uphill from here, right?"

"I hope so." She laughed suddenly. "You know, this must be the fastest friendship that's ever developed."

"It's amazing how dealing with a bunch of crap can bring two people together," he agreed. As he lay back against his pillows, Madam Pomfrey returned, two small jars in her hands. "This one's for the bruises," she said, holding up one that contained a translucent purple liquid. The second contained what looked like thick, white paste. "This one is for the boils. They should clear up in four to five days." Seeing Neville's horrified look, she added, "Fortunately, you're at an age where your classmates are starting to have their first battles with acne, so you should be able to blend in somewhat." From the other side of the room Seamus stifled a snigger. "Anyway, you should be alright to go to class now, but don't push yourself. Ms. Granger, make sure he doesn't overdo it, would you?"

Hermione nodded, and Neville gathered his things and he, Hermione and Seamus left the hospital wing.

Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled. "Looks like we've missed Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hermione said worriedly, producing a schedule from her bag and checking it over. "I hope Professor Quirrell isn't too upset, I don't think I could handle any more teachers being mad at me..."

"What've we got next?" Seamus asked hurriedly, as Hermione's eyes threatened to overflow.

"Lunch, and then Herbology with the Hufflepuffs. I do hope they're a bit nicer than the Slytherins..."

"Have you seen the idiots that get stuck in Hufflepuff? They couldn't hurt someone with a Beater's bat and a six-hundred-page book of curses."

They sat down at the Gryffindor table in the great hall and began wolfing down the sandwiches that appeared magically in front of them (Seamus ate four in about ten minutes; Neville, who was still feeling woozy, only managed a half). Hermione pulled out several spell books and some parchment and set about taking hurried notes in tiny, cramped handwriting. About halfway through the period, Harry and Ron appeared and took seats across from them.

"Er, Hermione," Harry said. "Ron has something he'd like to say."

"Go ahead," Hermione said coldly, eyes never straying from her notes.

Ron's ears were glowing as red as his hair. He looked immensely uncomfortable. "I'm... er..." He seemed to struggle for words for a moment. "Sorry!" he practically choked.

"For...?" Harry persisted.

"For being an insensitive git," Ron forced out through gritted teeth.

Hermione finally looked up, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Oh! Well, er, thanks, Ron," she said awkwardly.

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it!" he snapped, clearly unable to contain himself any longer. "Because I still think-"

"Shall we go to Herbology?" Harry interrupted loudly, before Ron could say anything that would necessitate a second apology.

"You know," Neville whispered with a cheeky grin at Hermione, as they made their way down to the green houses. "I think he likes you."

"Harry?" she said, startled.

"No, Ron."

"And I think you've been sniffing that jar of ointment Madam Pomfrey gave you," she snorted. "Honestly..."

Professor Sprout was a tiny little witch in somewhat-dirty robes and large leather gloves. "Welcome to Herbology!" she said as the class gathered around the table that ran the length of the greenhouse. "Now, I though we'd start the term off by re-potting some Devil's Snare cuttings- relatively simple in theory, but I warn you, these plants are very dangerous and any messing about will earn you a week's detention and removal from my class." Harry and Ron immediately ceased the thumb-wrestling they had been engaged in and tried to look innocent. "I've arranged your partners in advance, and I don't want to hear any arguments. Potter and Finnigan." Harry scooted around to the other side of the table. "Thomas and Finch-Fletchley; Bones and Patil; Macmillan and Brown; Granger and Weasley-" Hermione and Ron groaned in unison, "-Abbott and Longbottom." A blonde- pink-faced girl Neville recognized from the Sorting came around the table to meet him.

"Hannah Abbott," she introduced herself, extending a friendly hand. "I know who you are, of course," she added before he could speak. "I bet you're sick of hearing that. Does it get really tiring, people recognizing you everywhere you go?"

"Yeah," he admitted quietly. "It does."

Professor Sprout began walking around the table, placing a small potted plant in front of each set of partners, along with a bigger pot for transplanting. "These cuttings came off of a much larger specimen that Professor Dumbledore requested," she explained. "They're obviously smaller than the full-grown plant, but you will still need to exercise extreme caution- and keep your throats well out of their reach." She looked at the first-years grimly.

Neville bent down to study the little plant, leaning in as close as he could manage while still heeding the professor's warning. It consisted of several ropy-looking vines that twitched and writhed like tentacles, waiting to twist themselves around anything unfortunate enough to fall within its reach. Neville prodded it with his quill pen and watched in amazement as the wines instantly coiled around the tip. "_Cool_," he breathed.

As he looked around the room, it became evident that nobody was making much progress on the assignment. Several spaces down, Dean was urging his partner, Justin Finch-Fletchley, to "just kill it and tell her it was an accident!" Harry, across from him, was attempting to wrest his fingers from the plant's grip before it cut off the circulation. Ron and Hermione were bickering over who would have to get up the nerve to reach in and grab it- "If you're so smart, shouldn't you already know how to do this?" "Oh, shut up and be a man!" He turned to Hannah, who fought back a giggle and dropped _1,000 Magical Herbs and Fungi_ on the table.

"Behold, the power of the printed word. Pity none of them thought to check the book," she said, with a roll of her eyes. Neville would have expected Hermione to be the first to refer to the text, but she was too deeply engaged in battle with Ron to even think of using her book. Neville turned to the index, located the entry on Devil's Snare, and flipped to page four-hundred-sixty-three.

_Devil's Snare is a rare magical plant, most well-known for its ability to kill its victims through physical means, as opposed to other mechanisms such as poison. It thrives in dark, damp environments_...

"Like greenhouses!" Neville cried excitedly, only realizing he had spoken aloud when his classmates turned to stare at him as if they thought him a bit mad. Ignoring them, he rushed over to Professor Sprout, who was fertilizing a pink, flowering bush in the corner. "Professor, have you got a match?"

She smiled at him, looking pleased, and quietly withdrew a book of matches from inside the sleeve of her robe. "When you've finished, you might offer to help your classmates," she told him, nodding toward Seamus, who was now struggling to free Harry from the tendrils that were snaking toward his elbow. Neville nodded and rushed back to Hannah, who was staring at the plant apprehensively.

He stuck the match. "Hold this," he instructed. "But don't get too close, we don't want to burn it." Hannah held the match a few inches away from the vines. The plant immediately relaxed and fell limp, to her obvious relief. Neville quickly removed it from its pot, transferring it to the larger one along with several handfuls of soil.

"Excellent job, Mr. Longbottom!" Professor Sprout commended him with a hearty pat on the back. "Of course, I would expect nothing less from the Boy who Lived. Keep up the good work, boy, I'll accept nothing but your best!"

"How'd you do that?" Hermione demanded, looking a little irritated that she had not been the first to solve the problem. Grinning, Neville held up the burnt stub of the match for the entire class to see. "Of course!" Hermione sighed. "I knew that. This is your fault for distracting me!" she accused Ron.

"Oh, shut it, you're just angry you didn't get to be the- I dunno, the savior of the class or something-"

"Enough!" Professor Sprout said loudly. "Ten points each to Longbottom and Abbott for being first to get their cutting transferred. Weasley, Granger, stop your arguing or I'll take double what I just gave Longbottom from Gryffindor. Potter, come over here and let's get that thing off of you." A grateful-looking Harry rushed across the room, the plant and its pot dangling by his side, and Professor Sprout sedated it with a jet of heat from the tip of her wand. "Well, that's all for today. Your homework is a paragraph on the proper feeding of a Venomous Tentacula, to be handed in Thursday." The class packed up their things and filed out of the greenhouse.

"This place is bloody mad!" Harry fumed as he, Neville, Ron, Hermione, and Hannah walked across the sprawling, green grounds toward the castle. He rubbed at the angry red wheals that had been left by the Devil's Snare's vines. "I ask you, what sort of irresponsible teacher lets kids handle plants that can _strangle_ them? Why couldn't we start off with something a little more friendly like, I dunno, Venus flytraps or something?"

"I thought it was a really good lesson!" Neville said, disappointed that the others did not seem to share his sentiment.

"Yeah, well, you also think the Cannons are a good team, so your record's against you," Harry said, pointing at the bit of fluorescent-orange T-shirt that was peeking out above Neville's robes.

"What's wrong with the Cannons?"

"They're ranked last in the _world_, Neville," Hannah reminded him.

"Well, yeah, but everybody knows Sumbawanga cheated in that last match-"

"You support the Chudley Cannons?" Ron asked with great interest.

"Yes, I do," Neville answered defiantly.

"Me too!" Ron pulled down the collar of his robe to reveal his own, somewhat-faded, orange shirt. Neville cast a triumphant look at Harry, who rolled his eyes in disgust.

"I haven't the slightest idea what any of you are talking about," Hermione admitted, looking lost.

"Quidditch teams," Neville explained, remembering that Hermione had grown up in the Muggle world and, as such, would probably not be familiar with wizard sports.

"Ah, yes," she said, looking suddenly bored. "I read something about it in _A History of Magic_. A bunch of idiots on brooms chasing after a little ball while two blokes with bats attempt to knock them off their brooms? Sounds very manly," she finished with a snort.

"It's not!" Hannah said, looking offended. "In fact, the Holyhead Harpies are an entirely female team-"

Harry mumbled something about them being "a different _kind_ of female," causing Ron to laugh.

"Listen, Neville." Hannah grabbed his arm, pulling him aside for a moment. "I have to go study with some of the girls from my House now, but I wanted to tell you- if you ever find yourself getting tired of all the fame and fortune and whatnot, you're welcome to visit our common room. We don't judge. Everyone is equal in Hufflepuff House!" she said proudly

"I may have to take you up on that," Neville said, glancing sideways; a group of Ravenclaw third-years on their way to the greenhouses had stopped about ten meters ahead of them and were pointing and gaping at his forehead. "See you, Hannah!" he called as she raced off toward the castle to meet her friends.

"She seems nice," Hermione said when Neville had rejoined the group.

"All the Hufflepuffs are nice, Hermione, it's probably the only useful thing about them," Ron said. "C'mon, we'd better get to Charms..."

Unfortunately, Neville proved no better at Charms than Potions. The professor was a tiny little man called "Flitwick" who stood barely taller than his desk and informed them all in a high, squeaky voice that they would be spending the class levitating feathers. "You must say the incantation, 'Wingardium Leviosa,' while at the same time waving your wand in one smooth, fluid motion- swish and flick!" He waved his own wand in what Neville thought was a rather dramatic demonstration. "Proper technique is key in Charms work," he went on. "Poor wand-work or mumbling your words may result in mishaps." His words were given an ironic quality when Seamus let out a yelp from the far side of the room- it appeared that he had been trying to Charm his feather while Professor Flitwick spoke, but had succeeded only in setting fire to it. The little wizard chortled and offered him a fresh one. "As Mr. Finnigan has already demonstrated, such mishaps can present dangers to you and your classmates, so it is imperative that you move correctly and enunciate clearly. Alright- begin!"

Despite moving his wand in precisely the manner Professor Flitwick had described and speaking so clearly he sounded ridiculous, Neville was having very little success levitating his feather. He thought he saw it stir once or twice, but then Ron was "helpful" enough to point out that it was only Neville's breathing that was causing it to move. Hermione cheerfully tried to guide him through the spell. "Come on, I know you can do this!" she kept encouraging him. "Repeat after me- _Wingardium Leviosa_!"

Three-quarters through the lesson, though, it became evident that Neville's feather was not going to move from its spot on his desk, and Hermione's determined insistence that, "You can do this!" only served to make him more aggravated. Looking to his right, he was pleased to see that Ron was not faring much better; he kept smacking his wand off the desk while muttering, "_WingarDEEum_ _LevioSA_!"

"You're putting the emphasis on the wrong syllables," Hermione told him. "And your motion is off. Here, let me help you-"

"Piss off!" Ron snarled, cutting her off. "If I wanted your help, I would've asked for it. Tell me, do you _practice _making yourself this annoying?"

"I was only trying to..." Hermione gulped, fat drops spilling from her eyes onto the desk in front of her.

"Oh, go cry about it, why don't you?" Ron spat. And for the second time that day, Hermione ran off to the bathroom to do just that.

Neville, who wasn't in the mood for anymore turmoil that day, abandoned his feather and spent the remainder of class glaring at Ron, which, while perhaps not as painful as a kick below the belt or as emotionally scarring as a well-worded string of insults, did seem to make the red-haired boy extremely uncomfortable.

"It's not my fault she's awful!" he blurted as they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower for an hour of free time before dinner. "Every time she speaks it's like a cursed cheese grater attacking my eardrums. And she can't regulate her emotions at all. One minute she's talking your ear off and the next she's bawling her eyes out! She's absolutely mental!"

"She's not that bad," Harry said. "Just lay off her a bit..."

Neville, however, was a tad less forgiving. "It's people like you," he said loudly, whirling around on the stairs that led up to the boys' dormitories, "who are making this place SUCK. You're no better than that Malfoy and his friends-"

"Hey, take it easy!" Ron, who was still on the bottom landing, held up his hands as if fearful that he might have to fend Neville off. "We like _you_ just fine, mate-" Harry elbowed him in the side, "-and Hermione is, er, alright, too. I guess," he added, very begrudgingly.

Neville huffed and shook his head. "Fine. Whatever. Sorry I yelled," he grunted, and took off toward his dormitory. As soon as he was certain the other two were not going to follow him, however, he sneaked over to Ron's bed and short-sheeted it. Then, with a self-satisfied grin, he lay down on his own bed and began his Herbology homework.


	6. Doing Fine

**Hi, guys. Just want to say thanks again for the lovely reviews and I'm so happy you're enjoying it! Also, I've finally solved the problem of italics! WOOT!**

_**DOING FINE**_

_Dear Gran,_

_Well, I'm complete rubbish in almost all my classes, and that's putting it nicely (did you know it was possible to melt a cauldron? Because I didn't.), except for Herbology, which I think we both know is a completely useless subject. I got beaten up by a couple of Slytherins the very first day, but don't worry, the concussion's almost cleared up and Madam Pomfrey gave me something for the bruises. On a lighter note, I have managed to make a few friends- unfortunately, two of them are girls and one of the boys is rather horrible, so I don't know if he's really a friend at all. Other than classes and the beating, though, I am doing fine._

_Anyway, I just wanted to say I miss you and hope you are doing well, and could you possibly send me a new cauldron? Proffesor Snape won't give me a loaner even though he has about twenty in the supply closet. Make sure it's a cheap one, though, because I have a feeling I'll be ruining a lot more before the year is over._

_Love,_

_Neville_

"What do you mean, 'Unfortunately, two of them are girls?'"

Neville whirled around with a start, quill held point-out in case the need arose to jab somebody with it. The Owlery was still dark, save for a few candles mounted along the walls. This, combined with the rustling of wings and the soft, mournful vocalizations of owls in the rafters, had left him with a very jumpy feeling indeed. He glanced wildly around for the intruder, then, finding no one, called out, "Don't come any closer! I've got a-" He decided he was going to sound rather foolish if he said "Quill," and instead settled lamely for, "-something, er, sharp!"

"Neville, it's me!" came a girl's voice from somewhere in the darkness. "Hannah!"

"Hannah?" As the speaker stepped out of the shadows into a patch of sickly candlelight, Neville saw that it was indeed the Hufflepuff girl. Her blond hair was already tied up in its usual pigtails, and she skipped over to him with a sort of perkiness he only wished he could muster in the mornings. "Were you reading over my shoulder?" he asked, attempting to hide the scare she had just given him with a tone of irritation.

"Of course not!" she said, looking hurt. "I would never do that. You whisper to yourself when you write, is all. So what's your problem with having girls as friends?"

"What? Nothing!" he said quickly, picking up the letter from the table behind him. "You know what, I think I'll just get rid of this bit..." He hurriedly scratched out the offending line with his quill.

"You're up awfully early."

He nodded, neglecting to mention the fact that he had never actually gone to sleep; the Fat Lady whose portrait guarded the entrance to Gryffindor Tower required a password for entry- a password he was always forgetting- and after he returned late from studying in the library, he found himself locked out and was forced to sit on the cold floor with his back against a brick wall all night. He made a mental note to ask one of his fellow Gryffindors for the password later, so he could write it down. "I was just sending a letter to my gran, letting her know I'm doing okay..."

"Are you, though?" She stared at him with large, brown eyes, and he looked away.

"I don't want her to worry."

Though clearly dissatisfied with the non-answer, she nodded and said, "I just wanted to send a thank-you note off to my mum before all the good owls were taken- I was feeling homesick the other day and she sent me a really lovely care package full of chocolate frogs and pumpkin pasties. Has your gran sent you anything like that?"

Neville snorted. "I'll probably be lucky if she doesn't send me a Howler."

Hannah began wandering around the room, searching for a suitable owl. "How's Hermione Granger doing?" she asked suddenly.

"Well, she's got top marks in all our classes so far."

"That's not what I'm talking about. It seems like every time I go to the loo, she's in there crying. At first I thought it was that ghost everybody talks about- you know, the one that haunts the toilets- but then I realized it was Hermione. Is that Ron boy still being horrible to her?"

"No... not really." While certainly not friendly toward Hermione, Ron had made it a point to back off her a bit since Neville's outburst the first day. The other students, however, were a different story. Malfoy in particular seemed to be making it his mission to make her time at Hogwarts as unhappy as possible, constantly mocking her during classes and in the corridors, and never missing an opportunity to bring up her Muggle heritage, something he seemed to consider nothing short of a crime. "Personally, I don't think they should be allowed in," Neville overheard him saying one day as they left potions. "Just because they can do the spells doesn't mean they can ever _really_ be part of our world. They'll never _really_ fit in... though doing something about those teeth wouldn't be a bad start." At this, Hermione had covered her rather large front teeth with her hand and streaked off toward the bathroom once again, leaving Malfoy and his friends cackling gleefully. Then there was Snape. While the other teachers praised Hermione for her accomplishments, the Potions master only called her an "insufferable know-it-all," and threatened to take points from Gryffindor every time she tried to answer a question no one else could. _Is it any wonder she's miserable_? Neville thought.

"Well, I hope things get better for her," Hannah said sincerely, tying her letter to the leg of the spotted owl she had selected. "Be really nice to her, won't you?"

"Of course I will." Neville beckoned a large, handsome barn owl down from a perch near the ceiling and mailed off his own letter. He watched out the window as it took off, squinting as the sun came up over the mountains that surrounded the school. "We should get to breakfast," he said. "Before the seventh-years eat everything."

"Look, everyone!" came a delighted squeal when they entered the Great Hall together. "Longbottom's found himself a girlfriend!"

It was Pansy Parkinson, a pug-nosed Slytherin first year who was constantly tagging along after Malfoy and practically worshiped the ground he walked on.

"I know you're in Hufflepuff, Abbott," she continued, yelling over the general din of plates and glasses and students conversing at their tables. "But I still would've thought you'd have _some_ pride. What were you two doing, sneaking off to the broom cupboard to-"

"Shut up, Parkinson!" Hermione barked from the Gryffindor table, as Hannah rushed to the Hufflepuff side of the room, face flushed with humiliation.

It was Malfoy who joined in now. "Jealous, Granger?" he smirked. "It's really better this way, you know... Longbottom may be a fat, stupid lump, but he's also a pureblood, and that still counts for something... can't have a foul little Mudblood like you spoiling the one decent thing about him-"

Hermione did not respond, so Neville supposed she must not be familiar with the insult. Harry, however, leapt from his chair, purple-faced with rage, and aimed his wand directly at Malfoy's chest. "I've had more than enough of your crap," he growled. "Strutting about like you own the place... and everyone knows it was you and those ogres you pay to be your friends that hurt Neville..."

Several of the staff members looked up from their breakfast; Professor McGonagall was already on her feet, ready to intervene if things got out of hand. Malfoy threw a malicious look at Neville. "So you _did_ tell... that's fine... you'll see what running your fat mouth gets you." Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles menacingly.

"I didn't tell anyone anything!" Neville protested, but Malfoy didn't hear him. As the Slytherin boy pulled out his own wand, Ron and Hermione immediately joined Harry in Neville's defense. Just as Neville was debating whether or not to take out his own wand, Professor McGonagall stormed over, nostrils flaring dangerously. "I've been watching you lot, and I don't like what I'm seeing one bit," she told them all. "Hogwarts expects a certain level of maturity from its students- a level you seem to be failing to meet. Potter, detention, my office, seven-o'-clock. Mr. Malfoy, you will join him- don't argue with me, boy, I heard your provocation. As for the rest of you... clear away your things and get ready for class. If I see or hear any more of this sort of behavior, it will be a week's detention for all of you." She looked emphatically at each of them in turn before stalking back to the staff table like an angry cat.

"You didn't have to do that," Neville mumbled in embarrassment once McGonagall was out of earshot.

Harry shrugged. "You would've done the same for me."

Neville very much doubted that he would have the nerve to stick up for someone the way Harry just had, but he did not mention this. "But now you have to do detention with Malfoy," he said. "You should've just let him hex me. It's not like he could do any serious damage, and then he would've still got detention anyway."

"Don't you get it?" Harry said exasperatedly. "It's not about that! You're my friend, I don't want to see you hurt."

"O...kay." Apparently, Neville still hadn't quite figured out this "friendship" thing. "Hey, do you remember the password for the common room?" he asked, taking out a slip of parchment.

"'Course I do. It's 'Pig Snout.'" Neville wrote the phrase down and stuck the parchment into the pocket of his robe.

"C'mon," Ron said. "We have potions in fifteen minutes. Don't need to set Snape off, too."

Neville agreed with this statement wholeheartedly. The Potions master seemed to have a special kind of hatred that he reserved specifically for Neville, Harry, and Hermione. Ron and the rest of the Gryffindors were for some reason excluded from the constant verbal abuse and docking of points over trivial infractions that the other three had to put up with, but where Hermione was a "know-it-all," and Neville was undoubtedly the poorest student in the class, Harry was, at worst, an average student and fairly quiet during the lessons, so Neville couldn't understand what it was about the other boy that made Snape detest him so much. There had to be SOMETHING, but Harry so rarely talked about anything personal that Neville really knew very little about him. WHAT, he had to wonder, COULD POSSIBLY BE SO SECRETIVE ABOUT THE LIFE OF AN ELEVEN-YEAR-OLD?

* * *

><p>"And what," Snape sneered as he examined the ladle of thick yellow sludge, "do you call this?"<p>

Neville felt himself beginning to tremble, but he forced himself to meet those cold, dark eyes as he replied, "A-a-a Hiccuping Potion, P-p-p-professor?" He inwardly cursed himself for phrasing his reply as a question- that just showed he was even less sure than Snape was.

"Are you sure?" Snape asked, his lip curling nastily as he dumped the foul concoction back into the cauldron Fred Weasley had graciously lent Neville for the morning. "Because it looks, Longbottom, as though you were just violently sick into your cauldron." There was a round of poorly concealed giggles from the Slytherins. "Now, clean up this disaster. Also, I'll be wanting a written explanation of where you went wrong... I suspect it will be a rather long essay." He moved to investigate Hermione's light green potion. "Granger... perfect as usual." Only Snape could make those words sound like a criticism. "Potter-" Harry's potion was a better consistency than Neville's, but it was still a vile shade of yellow. "-disgraceful. Five points from Gryffindor."

"What?" Hermione gasped. "Professor, that's not fair, Neville's is much worse than Harry's-"

"Oh, wow, thanks, Hermione," Neville grumbled.

"You question me, Granger? Make it ten. Now all of you, get out of my sight!"

"What do we need to learn Hiccuping Potions for, anyway?" Ron complained as they left the dungeon. "I mean, what are we ever going to_ do_ with them?"

"Make people hiccup, I suppose," Harry said logically.

"Oh, well, just so long as we're not investing our time in anything totally useless."

Next was Defense Against the Dark Arts. This was also not one of Neville's favorite classes. Professor Quirrell was nice enough, but he was always so nervous. He was constantly stuttering, and whenever he got up in front of the class he seemed on the verge of a panic attack, averting his students' eyes and fiddling with his bizarre purple turban, which, much like Gran with her vulture hat, he was never seen without. There was also a faint odor of garlic that seemed to follow him wherever he went, and though Percy Weasley insisted he probably wore the turban for religious reasons, the twins reckoned he stuffed it full of garlic to ward off a vampire he had met on his travels and feared would come back to seek its revenge.

"T-t-t-today we'll b-be discussing b-b-basic blocking spells," he informed the class. "While these won't p-p-p-p-protect you from s-s-serious curses, they are effective against m-m-m-most minor j-j-jinxes and h-h-h-hexes. Now, if you w-w-would all take out your w-w-w-wands and repeat after m-me..."

Try as he might to keep up with the rest of the class, Neville just couldn't seem to wrap his mind around the subject. The information seemed to leave his brain as soon as he read or heard it, and something about the class- whether it was the material, the irritating stuttering, or the garlicky odor- always left him with a throbbing pain at the front of his head, so that he was grateful when the period was over and he could step outside briefly for some fresh air.

In Transfiguration, the class routinely took turns demonstrating their mastery (or lack thereof) of whatever spell they were learning. The Gryffindors all looked on miserably as Hermione managed, once again, to be the only student to successfully complete the assignment- in this case, turning a match into a needle. After showering her with praise, Professor McGonagall looked over toward Neville. "Mr. Longbottom, I don't believe you've had a chance yet to demonstrate a spell for the class. Why don't you show us the progress you've made on your match?"

"I'd rather not," he mumbled into his collar.

"I was not offering, Mr. Longbottom," she said sternly.

"Erm... okay..." He said the spell loudly and clearly, waved his wand in what he thought was the proper motion, but nothing happened. Most of the class had at least been able to make their matches shudder slightly, and a few had even gotten them to go pointy at one end. He held back a sob of frustration as he whispered, "I'm sorry... I just..."

"See me after class, Longbottom," Professor McGonagall said, and though her lips were pursed impatiently, he thought he detected a hint of kindness in her voice.

After the rest of the class had left, he took a deep breath, approached her desk, and stared at a spot on the wall above Professor McGonagall's as he babbled, "Professor, I'm sorry, I'm trying, I swear I am, really, but every time I go to do a spell it's like I know how to do it but I just don't have the power to make it happen, and I'm really sorry for wasting your time and I should probably just get on the train and go home and work in the Leaky Cauldron or something because I know I'm useless and frankly it's getting a little embarrassing and I'd rather just leave now than wait to be kicked out-'

"Mr. Longbottom!" she practically shouted, looking rather alarmed. "For heaven's sake, calm down, boy! Who said anything about being kicked out? I just wanted to speak with you about your classes."

"Sorry."

"Have a seat," she ordered, gesturing to a chair beside the desk. She opened a folder sitting in front of her, studied it for a moment, then said, "Mr. Longbottom, as Head of Gryffindor House I consider it my duty to ensure that my charges are as successful in their studies as possible. It has come to the attention of the staff that you are performing at a level far below that of the rest of your year, with the exception of Herbology, where Professor Sprout tells me your skills surpass even those of Hermione Granger. Now, I know you have been here less than a week, so it is possible that you may be able to catch up, given a little time. However, I'm recommending that you seek tutoring from one of the older students, or perhaps Miss Granger, who has already proven herself a very capable young witch."

"No!" Neville said loudly. He didn't think he could handle the embarrassment of having to confess to any of the older students that he was very nearly a Squib. He couldn't even imagine what would happen if the Slytherins found out. He'd probably have to leave school. "I mean... that is... I don't want to trouble anybody."

"What interests me," Professor McGonagall went on, "is that you seem to have a good theoretical understanding of the subject matter- in fact, as I recall, you received an "E" on your last homework assignment for my class. It's only when you put the theory into practice that you begin to have difficulty, although Professor Snape did inform me that your last Potions essay was nothing short of 'abysmal-' his words, not mine."

"Would it be possible for me to drop the class?" Neville asked hopefully.

"Unfortunately, Hogwarts does not allow students to drop classes until they reach N.E.W.T level. But don't think you are alone- more students are currently failing Potions than any other class." Neville brightened, but only slightly. "That said, Professors Flitwick and Quirrell are very concerned about your ability to succeed in their classes, both of which you are already doing extremely poorly in."

"Well, maybe it's not me!" he tried desperately. "Maybe it's... I dunno... my wand! It's not even _my_ wand, really, it was my dad's, Gran just passed it down to me on my birthday- maybe if I got a different one..."

Professor McGonagall shook her head. "While a wand specifically selected for the wizard or witch using it is indeed ideal, using a hand-me-down one should not affect your abilities to this extent. Unfortunately, I can only assume that you are either not putting enough effort into your studies, or you are a remarkably untalented wizard." Neville sunk lower in his chair. Realizing how hurtful her comment had sounded, she glanced at him apologetically and said, "I am only trying to help you, Mr. Longbottom, please believe that. I will give you till mid-term to pull up your grades. If I have not seen any improvement by then, I will be forced to assign you a tutor." Neville nodded glumly, mumbled a goodbye, and shuffled off to join the others.

"What'd McGonagall want?" Harry asked as Neville came up beside him.

"Oh, you know, just to tell me that I'm a useless loser and all the professors hate me."

"She said that?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Not in so many words. But it was implied."

"Well," Ron said, "if you ever need any help, Hermione knows positively _everything_. Don't you, Hermione?" His tone was light, but it did not disguise the nasty sarcasm that always made Neville want to hit him. Neville saw Hermione's fist clench against the armload of books she always carried with her, but she ignored the remark and Neville felt great respect toward her for being able to be the "bigger person."

He skipped lunch to study in the library, and returned after History of Magic, bringing his wand with him so he could practice the spells as he studied them- that is, until Madam Pince, the librarian, caught him trying to enchant various books and objects around the library and chased him out, brandishing an enormous volume of curses from the restricted section. "Bewitching ancient texts!" she screeched as he dodged her blows. "Prodding them with your wand as if they had no _value_! Get out, and don't come back until you learn some respect for literature!"

"She's mental, that one," Ron said when Neville told the other three about this over dinner. "I was in there the other day, looking something up for Binns's class, and she came over and snatched the book right out of my hands because my fingernails were 'too dirty' and I was 'breathing on it.' I reckon she lives in there, just sleeping among a giant pile of books every night. Downright unnatural..."

Harry spooned the last of his peas into his mouth, took a swig of pumpkin juice, then stood up and said, "I have to go. Don't want to be late for McGonagall. An hour locked in an office with Malfoy..." He shuddered visibly and left the Great Hall slowly and miserably, as if on a death march.

The other three soon headed up to Gryffindor Tower to get a head start on their homework for the weekend. When they reached the portrait hole, Neville fumbled around in his pocket for his piece of parchment, but was dismayed when he discovered a rather large hole in the fabric. He had a vague recollection of catching it on a bush in Herbology a few days ago, but had not noticed the tear. "Ah, no, I've lost the password!"

"What good is there in writing it down if you're just going to lose it?" Ron asked him. He turned to the Fat Lady. "Pig Snout," he told her.

"Right you are!" The portrait swung open and they stepped inside.

"Honestly," Ron grumbled, "I think you'd forget your head if it wasn't attached to-"

His words were drowned out by a loud honking sound. As Neville glanced around for the source of the noise, the twins appeared, each holding a party blower and sporting those ridiculous paper hats Neville had always been forced to wear at birthday parties for his cousins. As Neville looked around at his Housemates, he realized they, too, were wearing hats and blowing noise makers, talking loudly, laughing, and eating from the platters of food that had been laid out on tables, fireplace mantles, and generally any surface that didn't have someone sitting or standing on it. "You're just in time!" Fred shouted above the racket. "We just got the food up here, so it's all fresh. Help yourselves!"

"What is this?" Ron asked in amazement.

"Just a small party to celebrate surviving the first week," George said, popping open a bottle of butterbeer. "Seriously, have something to eat, there's loads-"

"How did you get all this?" Hermione said, picking up what looked like an eclair and taking a tiny bite.

"Down in the kitchens- they've got house-elves, they'll get you anything you want... we told them we were throwing a party and they went scurrying about like mad, had all this whipped up in about fifteen minutes, it was brilliant."

"What's a house-elf?" Hermione asked Neville.

"Well, they're... they're little elves who do chores for rich witches and wizards- sort of like servants Muggles have, I guess, only not human- and they usually do the sorts of things people don't want to do, cleaning, cooking, that sort of thing. Gran was thinking about getting one when I left for school, to sort of pick up the slack, but they're really expensive-"

"So they do get paid, then?" Hermione interrupted.

"What? No, you see, they do it all for free, because that's what they're for. And you have to be really careful not to drop them any clothes, because then they would be free to leave-"

"They're not even allowed _clothes_?" Hermione's eyes bulged, and she threw her eclair down onto the table, where it exploded in a mess of cream.

"Well, you can give them pillowcases or towels to wear."

Hermione was looking more horrified by the second. Ron jumped in and said, "It's in their nature, Hermione. They're glad to do it, it makes them happy, gives their life meaning. Fred and George have been nicking food from the kitchens since their first year, and the elves down there practically worship them!" But Hermione refused to eat another bite.

"I don't even know what I'm doing here," she said a little while later. She was sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the fire, refusing to participate in the festivities. "I really should be studying. You realize we've only got four years until O.W.L.s?" O.W.L.s stood for "Ordinary Wizarding Levels," the series of test fifth years were required to take before they could advance to N.E.W.T.s (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests).

"Only four years!" Ron gasped in mock horror. "Blimey, I'd better get cracking!"

At last the food was gone and cleared away, and everyone headed off to their respective dormitories for bed. Neville noticed that Harry had not yet returned, and wondered if he had done something to get himself stuck in McGonagall's office longer. After he said goodnight to Ron, Neville put on his pajamas and crawled into his bed, where he fell almost instantly asleep.

He was awakened by the sensation of a slight breeze- someone was pulling open his curtains, but the others were still asleep, and he hadn't heard any footsteps He looked around frantically, but he couldn't see anything in the dark. Panicked, he sat upright, reaching for his wand on his nightstand even though he knew it was next to useless. "LUMOS," a voice whispered, and by the faint light of the intruder's wand, Neville could just make out three faces: Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

"I told you what would happen if you blabbed," Malfoy whispered. "You want to be more careful where you leave your things, Longbottom. I saw a piece of paper fall out of your pocket in the library, and just my luck, it had the Gryffindor password written on it. 'Pig Snout-' how undignified." Neville tried to call for help, but Goyle clapped a hand over his mouth. Why did all the other boys have to be such heavy sleepers? A wide grin on his pale face, Malfoy flicked his wand. "_Petrificus Totalis_!"

Immediately, his body stiffened like a board. Legs, arms, neck, face and torso all went rigid, leaving only his eyes capable of movement. He could breathe through his nose, but his lips were sealed shut, rendering him incapable of producing any sound. Then two pairs of hands were underneath him, lifting him off his bed and carrying him out of the dormitory.

"Won't some'un 'ear us?" whispered Crabbe as they reached the door that opened onto the landing.

"That's what we cast the Silencing spells for, idiot. Come on, we can't go through the front door, it's locked, and anyway Filch is always passing by there. Marcus Flint told me there's a passageway out by that painting of the wizards playing Gobbstones- apparently that's how the older students sneak out to do their romantic stuff down by the lake." He sounded disgusted at the very thought.

As there was nothing he could do but breathe and blink, Neville leaned back and tried to enjoy his tour of Hogwarts's ceilings. Crabbe and Goyle were beginning to pant with the effort of carrying him, but Malfoy continued giving them instructions. _Of course_, Neville thought bitterly, _he would never be involved in something as _common _as physical labor_. And then they were outside, hurrying down toward the lake, and Neville began to panic again as he realized what was about to happen-

_SPLASH!_

It was unfortunate, in a way, that Crabbe and Goyle were too tired to throw him very far. He landed just feet from shore, in water deep enough that he was still submerged momentarily, but shallow enough that he landed face-down and snorted up a nose full of sand before bobbing back up to the surface. He tried not to breathe as he lay face-down in the frigid water, wanting desperately to shiver but unable to do so. "Roll him on his back, Goyle," he heard Malfoy say.

"I'm not goin' in there!"

"I'll dry you off with a Hot Air charm. For God's sake, you'd think the Mudblood and I were the only ones to ever open a spell book. Flip him over, Goyle, we can't let him drown... though I take no responsibility if the giant squid drags him under," he added with a chuckle.

Neville's vision was starting to go black and he felt as if there was a great pressure inside his head. Just as he was about to lose consciousness, he was flipped over onto his back. He breathed out hard through his nose, ejecting the sand he had snorted up, and began sucking in air as if worried the world would run out. "Consider this a warning, Longbottom. We went easy on you this time." Malfoy's face above him looked ghostly under the stars. "Tomorrow's Saturday. Everyone will be sleeping in. I'd say it'll be at least ten-o'-clock before they find you- IF they find you." His grin widened at the panic in Neville's eyes. "Anyway... have a good night, Longbottom." He, Crabbe, and Goyle jogged quietly back toward the the castle, leaving Neville floating on his back in the ice-cold water, with only the stars above him for company.


End file.
